


Where it Starts

by Phlyarologist



Category: Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 22:19:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17129750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phlyarologist/pseuds/Phlyarologist
Summary: Yomiel catches up with ... let's say an "acquaintance." That sounds a lot better than "former hostage."





	Where it Starts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Svirdilu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Svirdilu/gifts).



Yomiel pulled up the collar of his winter coat and looked steadfastly in the other direction, but it was no use. An unstoppable force was careening toward him at about a foot above the ground. In the distance a familiar voice shouted "Wait! Come back, boy!"

Missile skidded to a stop just short of the park bench, tail a-wag, yapping like crazy, and began pawing at Yomiel's shin. When Yomiel did not immediately start scratching his ears, the dog barged in through the back door in his mind too: _It's me, Missile! I know you! Sissel used to have your face, do you remember? And we got in a boat! And Mino fell on you! Did it hurt when Mino fell on you? When I did my tricks on it, it felt so heavy..._

Several surgeries and years of physical therapy later, Yomiel had just, on his release from prison, started walking short distances without a cane. He had thought a trip to Temsik Park was a short distance. He'd left the cane at home. He was paying for that arrogance now. Usually he was happy to be anchored to a physical body again - he'd longed for this security for years - but not when it trapped him in awkward conversations. All the more humbling that it was an awkward conversation with a dog.

Missile was sniffing his shoes. _You smell like Sissel, too! Did Sissel visit you? Let's all be friends! Sissel has a body again, did you know? But he's even smaller than me!_

"Missile, heel!" Lynne, out of breath, finally coming into view up the path. Kamila was not far behind her. Yomiel cursed his timing, and his legs, and his cane still standing in the kitchen at home. He'd only come to the park for a little closure. Not _this_ much closure, thanks.

Missile ran back to Lynne, but he was still within psychic reach. _I don't have ghost tricks anymore, but when we came back to the future, I knew twice as many doggy tricks! Isn't that neat?_

Curiosity finally pricked Yomiel to answer. _How are you even talking to me? Only the dead can do this._

_I don't know! I just saw you, and I tried really hard to say "hello!"_

Well, if they walked through this park often, maybe low-level Temsik radiation had a cumulative effect. Maybe it had changed Missile's core over time, the same way the powers of the dead had changed. If that was the case, Yomiel decided, he wasn't coming back here again.

"I'm so sorry," said Lynne. "Did my dog bother you?"

"It's fine," Yomiel said shortly.

"If you're sure," said Lynne.

Kamila had knelt down to Missile's level and was staring seriously into his face. "Leave the nice man alone, okay, Missy?"

Nice man. All right. He had taken this girl's nervous system in his spectral hands and marched her down the corridors of a foreign submarine to kill her father. He _had_ killed her mother. But all that had been undone, of course, and he was reformed now. A nice man in the park. The victim of a sad series of accidents and his own poor judgment, nothing else, and he'd paid his debt to society, and this time next year he'd be settling into married life.

He should probably be more polite to Missile, considering. But he had always been more of a cat person.

"Hang on," said Lynne. "I know you." She frowned, taking a step closer. "Yeah. You haven't even changed your hair."

No point trying to escape now. Yomiel sighed and stretched his arms across the back of the bench. "Hey, neither have you."

“So you probably just got out, huh? It was a ten-year sentence, right?”

“Ten years,” Yomiel agreed, and thought about adding _for holding you at gunpoint_ in case she needed the reminder, but then glanced at Kamila and thought better of it. The kid was wrapped up in playing with Missile now, and didn't seem to be listening, but why run the risk? He'd traumatized her enough in that other timeline.

“How's life on the outside treating you? Big adjustment?” said Lynne, and somehow she looked sincerely concerned. Like she had on the _Yonoa._ Lynne was an uncomfortably good person. Perhaps sensing Yomiel's confusion, she laughed and said, “Don't get me wrong. Getting scooped up and menaced by a stranger wasn't a bright spot in my childhood. You made me drop my sweet potato and everything.” Her eyes softened. “But when Detective Jowd protected me from you, and you protected me from that weird sculpture – that's how I realized what I want to do.” She straightened. “I think people are good, when you give them the chance. I want to protect that.” And then she showed him her shiny new detective badge. “And I won't ever put anyone in the situation you were in.”

Yomiel didn't answer. Lynne put the badge away again. “Which is a really long-winded way of saying, I don't have a grudge and I hope you're doing okay. But maybe it would be a different story if I wasn't doing great myself!”

“Yeah, congratulations on making detective,” said Yomiel, mostly meaning it, but partly realizing she wouldn't move on until he'd said so.

“Oh, thanks! How's _your_ work situation looking?”

“I'm picking up freelance stuff here and there. Luckily Sissel's happy to be the breadwinner for now.”

“Wait, who?” said Lynne. Missile looked up from rolling on the ground at Kamila's feet and barked in recognition.

“Oh, sorry – my fiancée.”

Lynne looked thoughtful. “I know a cat named Sissel, so I was imagining him bringing you money. But that makes way more sense.” Although Sissel the cat had, one night last week, hopped in through the kitchen window and dropped a stained and crumpled bank note on the counter. _This is one of the valuable ones, right? It was in the storm drain. I can't read what it says._ Then he'd vanished back to Jowd's house. The bill had been good for three stops' worth of subway fare.

“Anyway,” said Lynne, “Missile and I were just walking Kamila home from piano lessons, so her parents will be expecting her pretty soon. But I'm happy to see you're doing okay. If you want to catch up sometime, you can leave a message at the police station for L- for _Detective_ Lynne.” She held out her hand for him to shake.

He shook it. “I'd get up, but ten years ago my lower body was crushed by a public art installation.”

“Understandable,” said Lynne, and then thought about it more, and then grimaced. “Hey, yeah, thanks for taking that hit for me. Appreciate it.” But then, brushing off the prospect of death by crushing as easy as you please, she looked over her shoulder at her charges. “Kamila, Missile, we ready to go?”

And they strolled away, all of them, none the worse for wear. Yomiel remained on the bench a while longer, waiting for his strength to return. Trying to imagine closing this chapter of his life for good. For now he was back in his body, back where it all began, feeling the sun on his face.


End file.
